"The sight of the ideal is like lightning flashes from the far horizon; once we have seen it, we can’t forget it. Thereafter we are just secretly waiting, hoping that that star may peep out from behind the clouds again, that seeing it, we may know it for the same star, and know it as our star, and fix our eyes upon it forever. Or again, it is like a maiden of rare beauty standing at the edge of the crowd who casts quick shy glances in our direction to see if there is any hope of our love. If once we really behold her, if once we look deep into her eyes, deep into what most deeply we are, then thereafter are we utterly damned, utterly lost to all ordinary ways of feeling, and thinking, and doing."